


27-Away

by WritestuffLee



Series: The Warrior's Heart, Volume 4, The Long Shadow [27]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, Angst, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-11
Updated: 2008-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:15:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritestuffLee/pseuds/WritestuffLee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unexpected gifts and revelations on Obi-Wan's 29th Nameday. Shameless shmoop, promiscuous kissing, ridiculous antics, and sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	27-Away

The sudden flare of light blinded Obi-Wan as he came through the door and he threw up a hand to shield his eyes, then reeled back defensively, heart thumping, as the roar of voices assaulted him.

_“Surprise!”_

The word echoed and reechoed around the room as it was suddenly revealed  in the light to be full of people he knew and loved: Siri, Tianna, Bruck and Isa, Reeft, Quin, who was in temple for a change, and more of his agemates; his padawan, Jicky; and his former master, of course. Even Master Yoda had made an appearance and was cackling at Obi-Wan’s startlement. Bant, who’d kept him busy and away from his quarters all day and nattered at him to keep him from noticing the mass of life in his quarters through the Force, chortled behind him and shoved him all the way into the room.

“Gotcha,” Bruck said, gloating. Obviously, this was his doing, Obi-Wan decided. “Happy nameday, you old fart,” Bruck continued, whacking him on the back. “I can’t believe you’re already teetering on the edge of senility.”

“Yes, funny, that, when you’re only just teetering on the edge of maturity,” Obi-Wan retorted, staggering a little with the force of the blow. “Though I despair of you ever growing up. Was this your plot?”

“And Qui-Gon’s. He got Bant to keep you busy and helped arrange the rest.”

“The rest” turned out to be a small feast with many of Obi-Wan’s favorite finger foods and enough various types of intoxicants—brought by the guests—to get a significant portion of the temple stoned, high, or drunk. It was a welcome surprise, Obi-Wan’s last several missions having been not so much harrowing as just plain depressing. His mood lifted significantly as the party careened into high gear with music and talk and laughter. It was a pleasure and a blessing to see so many of his friends in one place, and to celebrate this mildly significant date with them. The last time they’d all been together had been at his knighting, and that seemed like a long time ago. There were even some small gifts—little things, like a stash of his favorite inhalants from Siri—but they mattered not nearly as much as the people who’d come to celebrate with him.

Obi-Wan was 29 this year, teetering, as Bruck had said, on the edge of what he was beginning to feel was real adulthood. Jedi grew up quickly, as children in many of the galaxy’s societies did, but only time and experience could begin to make one feel fully adult. He’d been a Jedi since the age of 13 when Qui-Gon had given in and taken him as a padawan, and had been knighted for four years now, with his own padawan for nearly a year. He’d seen war, genocide, weddings, peace treaties, riots, strikes, economic collapse, the dissolution of social order, natural disasters, pirates, slave traders, smugglers, political perfidy, more ceremonies than he could count, and more worlds than most citizens saw in a lifetime. But it was Jicky who’d made him feel the true weight of adult responsibility and its compensatory joy.

“Happy Nameday, Master,” his padawan said, bouncing onto the spot beside him on the sofa and giving him a hug and a small, flat package. “Knight Chun helped me pick this out. He said you liked these. I hope you like this one.”

Obi-Wan put his glass of stout down on the table and carefully removed the wrapping. What was revealed beneath it made him grin. “I do like _grafikas_ , Padawan. And I’ve been waiting for this one to come out. Thank you. It’s an excellent gift.”

Jicky beamed as he returned her hug and then she bounced back off the sofa to report her success to Bruck. Qui-Gon took her place.

“And what do you have for me, master mine? Another rock?” Obi-Wan smirked. He had 15 of them now, of many kinds, some carved into rather interesting shapes—one for every year he and Qui-Gon had been together. The thought brought him up short. Hard to believe it had been so long.

“I thought we might break with tradition this year, as we’ve reach a nice round number—of rocks, that is. Fifteen seems a good place to _switch gears_ , shall we say.”

The odd emphasis stymied him for a moment, then Obi-Wan’s eyes widened as he remembered an earlier casual conversation about the relative merits of various speeder bikes. “You didn’t. Qui—”

Qui-Gon held up a hand, silencing him. “No protests. Promise me. I’ve planned this for a long time and I won’t be thwarted. I know it’s not as if you couldn’t have afforded one yourself, with that trust of yours. But I also know you’d never indulge yourself this way. And I will.”

Obi-Wan was struck with an odd mixture of embarrassment, consternation, and glee. “Where is it?” he whispered, as though afraid the rest of his guests might overhear.

“In garage number 6, in its own slot,” Qui-Gon responded at a normal volume, watching Obi-Wan’s face with amusement. “Bright and shiny and fueled up, waiting for you. In the meanwhile, there’s this—” Qui-Gon handed him a blank, palm-sized  holostage, “—and this,” and a small electronic gizmo that would fit in a belt pouch or on a clip: the starter. “We’ll have to reset it to your print and voice. I was afraid either Bruck or Quin would take it out for a test before you got to it, if I left it unlocked.”

Obi-Wan laughed, excitement shining in his eyes. “You’re right. They probably would, given half a chance. Did you?”

“Someone had to bring it back here from the dealer,” Qui-Gon said with a sly smile. “Go on, then, take a look at it,” he urged, gesturing to the holostage.

Obi-Wan flipped it on. A sleek, deep blue racing speeder bike appeared on it and rotated slowly. His eyes widened yet again. “A Nightfalcon,” he breathed. “The newest Ikas-Adno. Qui-Gon! This must have set you back—”

Love welled up in him as Qui-Gon’s answer overrode his guilt and astonishment. “Not as much as you’re worth to me, or what it’s worth to see your face just now, _kosai_.”

 

The truth was that it had all but wiped out Qui-Gon’s savings of 40 years. Not that it mattered. He had his own trust of sorts, about which Obi-Wan knew nothing, and he otherwise would have forfeited this not insignificant sum in the not-too-distant future. Better that his meager payment for years of serving the Jedi should buy the man he loved something Obi-Wan would never have given himself. It swelled his heart to see the happiness and excitement it brought Obi-Wan.

The gift made him look like a boy again, and Qui-Gon felt a melancholy pleasure spread through him at the sight. Eyes lit with the same fervor with which he’d once built ship models, Obi-Wan avidly watched the holo image rotate on its stage, exclaiming over the revealed specs and nearly bouncing in his seat as Jicky had a few moments ago. It was clear he wanted to tear off to the garage and hop right on, and that the only thing holding him back was the presence of his guests.

Qui-Gon’s last apprentice had never cared much for flying, despite his skills in it and his early infatuation with the models, but he’d learned to love fast speederbikes in his master’s wake. The last time they’d ridden together had been many years ago, on a mission, and in an uncharacteristic moment of abandon, Obi-Wan had raced him over the rough terrain after scolding him for leaving his helmet behind. That memory only reminded Qui-Gon of the last similarly helmetless ride he’d taken on Ruhiri, one he’d missed sharing with Obi-Wan. Well, they would have one together very soon, if not on Ruhiri, then out at the training facility. He’d borrow one of the Temple’s speederbikes and they’d—

Master and former apprentice looked up as a large shadow fell over them.

“Well, I see Qui-Gon gave you the big prize, Kenobi. Here’s my contribution. Happy Nameday. Don’t kill yourself.” Quinlan Vos dropped a blue, visored racing helmet into Obi-Wan’s lap and stood with arms folded, looking thunderously sullen as only Vos could.

“Sulking because you couldn’t steal a ride before I broke it in?” Obi-Wan needled, trying the helmet for size. It fit perfectly.

Vos tried to look sour but failed, breaking into a grin that crinkled the tattoo across his cheeks. “Chun and I are arguing over who gets to borrow it first.”

“That’s presuming I’m lending it,” Obi-Wan retorted in a somewhat muffled voice, taking the helmet off again. “I know how you two drive, remember?” Vos made a grab for the helmet and Obi-Wan shifted it into Qui-Gon’s lap, knowing even Quin would have second thoughts about reaching for it there. Qui-Gon accepted it with feigned innocence.

“Oh, you’ll lend it,” Bruck chimed in, throwing himself down on Obi-Wan’s other side. He stretched out his legs and put his hands behind his head, looking smug. “And I’ll get first crack at it,” he added confidently. “Wait until you see what Isa and I got you. Suri helped us pick it out.”

Obi-Wan looked comically wary now, and Qui-Gon enjoyed the sight, as much as he enjoyed the hormone-fueled banter between the three younger men. Setting the helmet on the floor at his feet, he leaned back and spread his arms out along the end of the sofa to watch how it all shook out.

Isa emerged from Jicky’s room carrying two largish flat boxes wrapped in colorful paper. Smirking, she set them on Obi-Wan’s knees. “We all expect you to model these.”

“Model? What—Oh, I see,” Obi-Wan said, opening the first box and answering his own question. Inside was a padded and articulated leather jacket in black with a wide blue stripe down shoulders and sleeves, and the stylized, flaring rays of half a yellow sun across the back. The second box held a pair of matching leather pants, padded on the knees and groin, a smaller sun emblazoned around one hip.

Vos hooted. “The Uptight Knight in black leather! This is a must-see. Put them on!”

“All right, all right,” Obi-Wan conceded, grinning. He scooped up the jacket and pants and headed toward the bedroom, only to hear a distinctive voice say, loudly, “See? Told you I did. Up you will pay, Knight Tachi.”

Qui-Gon looked over one shoulder to see Siri disgustedly putting a credit chip in Master Yoda’s outstretched green claws. Most of the room burst into laughter, and Obi-Wan turned around with his arms full of leather, bewildered.

“What?” he said. “What did I miss?”

“Master Yoda said you wouldn’t undress in front of us and I said you would, because you do it all the time in the locker rooms. What is your problem, Kenobi?” Siri complained. “It’s not like you’ve got anything we haven’t seen before.”

“Just more of the usual amount,” Tianna teased.

“Little gods!” Obi-Wan expostulated and looked around at his friends, shaking his head. “Why do I put up with you lot?”

“Because you know nobody else but us would put up with you,” Bant replied drily. “Come on, we want to see how you look—with and without.”

Obi-Wan dropped his new leathers into a chair in mock disgust and started to strip. Bruck accompanied him by imitating a well-known stripper’s ditty and was soon joined by a chorus of voices. Qui-Gon was surprised but not displeased when Obi-Wan played along, slowly peeling off his clothing, giving each bit a quick twirl, and flinging it away while bumping and grinding to the tune. In short order, and to loud applause, he was in nothing but his undertunic and small clothes. Jicky seemed moritified at her master’s behavior, but Qui-Gon was highly amused.

The leather pants were a snug fit, and looked like second skin when they were on. It took a little adjusting to get himself tucked into what was essentially a codpiece, with the requisite hooting and rude comments before he was safely fastened in. The jacket went on more easily and fit like the gloves that he found in the pockets, accompanied by a nameday note from Suri. Bant and Tianna each dropped a new biker boot at his feet while eyeing him up and down. “Happy Nameday from both of us,” Tianna said, leaning in to give him a kiss and whisper “you’re blushing,” into his ear. He hadn’t been, but now was, suddenly. Qui-Gon, near enough to hear the whisper, chuckled to himself and received an outraged look from Obi-Wan in return.

Once Obi-Wan had pulled the short boots on, Vos tossed him the helmet, which he tucked under his arm, then turned to face the crowd of his friends, mildly flushed and grinning, hand on one cocked hip. _Ooohs_ and _aaahs_ greeted him and Qui-Gon felt a sudden, pleasant, anticipatory surge in his groin. Bruck led the applause and Qui-Gon joined in with quiet enthusiasm. Obi-Wan winked at his master then proceeded to exact his revenge on Bruck by sauntering up, straddling his lap and pulling him into voracious kiss that left Bruck unsure of what to do with his hands in Qui-Gon’s presence. They landed, finally, on Obi-Wan’s ass, his fingers digging hard into the leather. Obi-Wan returned by favor by grinding against him.

By the time he pulled back, they were both flushed and Bruck had slid down in his seat, gasping. Obi-Wan, cupping his face tenderly, said, “That was your thank-you, B-Boy. Vos gets first crack at the bike after me.”

Bruck, looking predictably outraged, would have protested, but Isa beat him to it. “Hey! What about me? I picked out the pants!”

Obligingly, Obi-Wan left Bruck’s lap, stalked over to Isa, took her in his arms as she giggled, bent her backwards, and kissed her soundly. More hoots and laughter accompanied it. When it was over—not lasting quite as long as Bruck’s kiss—Isa came up out of Obi-Wan’s arms equally flushed and still giggling. “Score!” she yelped, raising a fist. Even Bruck laughed.

Then a line formed.

Obi-Wan shot Qui-Gon an interrogatory look, raising an eyebrow, and Qui-Gon merely nodded toward his first impatient guest, Siri, with an amused, slightly lopsided smile. Not surprisingly, she managed to turn the tables on Obi-Wan by pushing him up against the back of the sofa and bending him backwards. Siri looked smug and Obi-Wan nonplused when she let him go. Apparently she’d gotten her revenge for her lost bet.

Not everyone lined up and not everyone who lined up got a kiss. Vos was unceremoniously shoved out of the line, grinning, accompanied by Obi-Wan’s tart observation that he’d rather kiss a Wookiee, thanks. The last taker, Qui-Gon himself, got one rather longer and more involved than either Bruck or Isa. Afterwards, Master Yoda stumped up to Obi-Wan, gently prodded his padded codpiece and announced, “need that padding you do not, Knight Kenobi,” and cackled. Obi-Wan covered his eyes and shook his head.

“You’re embarrassing my padawan, Master,” he pleaded.

“And mine,” Qui-Gon added with a tiny smile he could not suppress.

 

“Be thankful you should join the line I did not,” the old master grumbled snarkily and stumped away again. Behind Yoda’s back, Obi-Wan gave his master a mock look of terror.

“Saw that I did, Knight Kenobi.”

“I’m not surprised, Master,” Obi-Wan murmured.

“We all know you’re dying to check out the new present, Kenobi,” Vos interjected, “so let’s go.”

 

Master Yoda bowed out at this point, wishing Obi-Wan a happy nameday. As the party trooped down to the lower level garages, Obi-Wan took the time to clear the intoxicants out of his system. He wanted to be perfectly sober not just for safety’s sake but to fully enjoy what was coming. He felt like a crechling making a trip to the sweets store for the first time. It still amazed him that he hadn’t seen this coming, even after that conversation four tens ago as they watched the speed trials for the P’nnzyl Classic. That conversation had seemed perfectly natural, and it wasn’t at all unusual for them to watch the races when they were together. Obi-Wan shook his head at himself. After all these years, Qui-Gon could still surprise him.

Obi-Wan’s new bike sat in its slot looking like some exotic, brightly plumed avian next to the more utilitarian and drab Jedi vehicles. He walked around it just drinking in the lines and color, then swung himself into the seat and leaned over the handlebars. When he leaned back and looked over at Qui-Gon, his former master was positively grinning. As was Obi-Wan.

“Here,” Qui-Gon said, “let’s reprogram it so you can take it out.”

In a few minutes, the bike rumbled to life under Obi-Wan’s command. He’d insisted on leaving Qui-Gon’s voice and print on the starter and would probably add Bruck and Quin as well. Later. Maybe much later. He motioned Qui-Gon into the pillion seat, but the older man declined. “You should have the first ride to yourself. I got a quite nice taste of it driving it here from the dealer, who must have thought I was having a mid-life crisis.”

Obi-Wan laughed. “Little did he know you’ve always been speed fiend,” he retorted, grinning, then snapped his visor down and roared out of his parking slot.

Coruscant was actually one of the worst places to ride a speeder bike unless you went down to the mid or lower levels where there were more solid streets instead of air traffic lanes. And there was no place apart from a racetrack to really open it up, which is what this bike in particular was made for. Together, he and the bike growled their way down to a relatively traffic-free zone that skirted one of the parks. He did a few circuits there, enjoying the pleasant vibration of the engine between his legs, but he never took it much above 40 and could almost feel the bike begging him to open up the throttle. Obi-Wan wondered how Qui-Gon would feel about shipping over to the training grounds with a bike from the Temple so they could ride together for a day and really see what this machine could do. He suspected it wouldn’t take much to talk Qui-Gon into it.

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan headed back to the Temple with his new possession, feeling a quite un-Jedi-like attachment to it already.

“I could see your grin gleaming out from beneath your helmet as you came up the ramp,” Qui-Gon told him as he flipped his visor up. “So it measures up?”

“More than measures up. But I’d like to really give it a good run. Shall we catch a ride over to the training course tomorrow or the next day?”

Qui-Gon smiled. “I was thinking you might want to do that, so I reserved a bike for myself and booked us on a shuttle. For tomorrow. Do you want to bring Jicky along?”

He did and he didn’t. It would be lovely to have Qui-Gon to himself, but it wasn’t as if they’d have any real privacy anyway. And it would be a good experience for Jicky, since she was a bit wary of both real speed and controlling it. “If you don’t mind,” he replied.

“I don’t. I’d love to have you to myself, but you have responsibilities now. And Jicky is delightful company. She can ride with me, if you’d rather.”

“We’ll work that out later.” He turned to the expectant, loitering crowd, looking for a particular face. “Isa! Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”

Pushing Bruck rudely aside, Isa vaulted onto the back of the bike with alacrity and a whoop, accompanied by protesting howls from both Bruck and Quin and a grumpy booing from Siri. Even Siri was offered a seat before either of the two most eager would-be riders, as was Jicky, who declined, predictably. By the time Obi-Wan finally got around to his two closest friends, they’d worked out who was going first and Vos climbed aboard the pillion seat while Bruck watched enviously.

When it was finally Bruck’s turn, they took a long, leisurely ride, Bruck leaning against him with arms around his waist, chin resting on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, leaning into the turns together. Halfway home, they headed into a park, down one of the secluded roads that cut across it. Obi-Wan pulled into a pass-by, shut off the bike and pulled off his helmet. Bruck did the same as Obi-Wan dismounted.

“So what do you think?” Obi-Wan asked, eyes gleaming.

“I think you made me wait long enough.” Bruck was trying to be grumpy and failing miserably. Obi-Wan merely grinned at him and the corners of Bruck’s mouth twitched, then broke into an answering smile. “It’s an amazing piece of machinery. I don’t think I’ve ever ridden anything so smooth. Except maybe you.”

“Shall we do a comparison?” Obi-Wan smirked.

He hadn’t expected the awkward pause that followed this suggestion. In the shadows, Bruck’s expression was unreadable. “What brought this on?” he asked finally.

“Sitting on your lap shoving my tongue into your mouth earlier this evening,” Obi-Wan responded drily. “Which you seemed to enjoy.”

“I thought we’d decided—”

“Did we?” Obi-Wan tried to sound genuinely curious, though he remembered it all quite differently, it seemed.

Bruck was silent for a time then sighed. “No, I guess we didn’t. Not really.”

“Look, if you don’t want to, it’s all right. I just thought it might be fun—”

Obi-Wan stopped because Bruck was shaking his head. “I didn’t say that. I just, well, we’re not exactly seeing each other, are we? I can’t remember the last time we went clubbing. Or the last time we fucked in the alley behind it.”

“I can’t either,” Obi-Wan added in a kind of wistful voice, not pleading, but not far from it. “But we’ve been together one way or another for almost ten years now. If it’s Isa—”

“No. It’s not Isa. You saw her earlier. She thinks it’s cute. And she likes you. Says you’re good for me.”

“As bad as Qui,” Obi-Wan smiled. “Force save us from matchmakers.”

Bruck grimaced. “Amen,” he agreed. “So,” he said, letting out a big breath, “the seat looks big enough, but how’re we going to get you out of those pants?”

Obi-Wan’s smile turned to a full-out grin, though he could still sense Bruck’s odd reluctance. “Obviously, you didn’t examine these very closely when you were buying them, Knight Chun. Fortunately, Knight Kassir did, and she was thinking of you when she picked them out.” Obi-Wan got back on the bike, facing the wrong way. “Take a look.”

Bruck squinted in the dark, then let his fingers probe the padded groin area of Obi-Wan’s new leathers. Bruck’s touch was somehow tentative and Obi-Wan almost stopped him then, but his fingers grazed Obi-Wan’s filling cock and it was all he could do not to guide Bruck’s hand to it.

“Ah,” Bruck said softly, his questing fingers closing on a corner of the codpiece. Obi-Wan felt a little tug and heard the first snap release, then a second, a third and the rest, one by one; shortly thereafter Bruck freed him from his small clothes and the leather and was stroking him in the coolish night air. Obi-Wan leaned back against the handlebars, panting lightly. He’d missed this.

“Now,” Obi-Wan said a little breathlessly, “what do we do about yours?”

Bruck’s teeth flashed in the dark. “Lucky for you, I’m wearing my party pants.”

Obi-Wan’s answering grin was sly. “That’s my B-Boy. Always prepared for anyone, anywhere, any time.”

“No, that’s you, Slut Boy; remember?”  Bruck retorted, laughing. The reluctance, it seemed, had faded.

“Let me,” Obi-Wan said in a husky voice, and reached over to Bruck’s waist. The fly on Bruck’s so-called “party pants” was a metal snap and zipper. Obi-Wan left the snap closed but pulled the exposed zipper down . . . and around as Bruck lifted his hips. . . and up again to where it dead-ended at the back of the waistband, leaving the pants essentially crotchless. “I can’t believe you still wear these. You have no shame. And no small clothes.”

“Nope, and neither do you,” Bruck countered cheerfully, leaning back in the seat and throwing his legs over Obi-Wan’s thighs. Like Obi-Wan, he was hard already, no evidence of hesitation now. “The shame part, anyway.”

After a little scooching around, they found a good position, and Obi-Wan gave Bruck a finger to suck and then worked it inside. “You’re tight,” he observed.

“Been a while,” Bruck breathed, rocking into him. Obi-Wan hit his prostate and Bruck groaned softly, shuddering. The sound went straight to Obi-Wan’s cock.

“And Isa has smaller hands,” Obi-Wan observed, not at all innocently.

Bruck opened his mouth to make a verbal volley but a speeder headlight gleamed on the road and Obi-Wan leaned forward and kissed him, hard, making it somewhat less obvious what they were up to. The light passed in a flash and moved on. The two men looked at each other conspiratorially and laughed, but there was a guilty edge to it, not the cheap thrill there had once been.

“Ready?” Obi-Wan breathed in his ear and then bit the lobe. Bruck hissed. “Yes!”

They both spit in Obi-Wan’s hand and he slicked his cock, then pressed slowly into his partner, Bruck clutching his shoulders, bearing down, rocking into him, until he was inside. “Ben! Oh gods that’s good!” He shuddered again and pressed Obi-Wan back against the handlebars, looping his arms back over them. Then he started to move, pushing off the footrests.

Obi-Wan, almost supine, couldn’t do much more than watch and enjoy. And that was just fine. Bruck’s hair, long around his shoulders now and worn loose tonight, glowed ghostly in the faint ambient light of Coruscant night, his face in shadows. The bike rocked gently beneath them on its repulsors as Bruck rode him, lithe body a darker shadow above Obi-Wan. Bruck reached for his own cock, but Obi-Wan stopped him. “Don’t. I want to suck you off,” he panted. “Just—gods! That’s so good—hurry!—just make me—m-make me c— _come!_ ” 

Bruck clenched his buttocks and thighs and a convulsive shudder rippled through Obi-Wan, arching his spine, rolling his head back over the handlebars, and loosing a cry that Bruck stifled with one hand. Obi-Wan bucked up against him, emptying himself in an electric spasm of pleasure, and then sank back into the seat heavily, making the bike bob as though they were in a boat on the water.

Bruck disentangled them and stood up on the footrests, zipping himself back together. “Hey,” Obi-Wan protested feebly, cracking an eye open. He felt utterly boneless, almost drugged.

“Too late,” Bruck informed him. “That shriek of yours always sets me off. And hearing you beg. And say, ‘suck you off.’ Really, no chance I was gonna last.” He smiled and ruffled Obi-Wan’s hair. “You look like you’ve been poured there, without a mold. Want me to drive?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan agreed sleepily. “Why’re you so alert?”

“Night air,” Bruck said, carefully tucking him in and snapping up the codpiece again. “You know what I’m like when we fuck outside. Here’s your helmet. Slide back and turn around.”

Obi-Wan rode back leaning against Bruck with his eyes closed, wondering why Bruck had lied to him. They’d been sleeping together on and off for almost a decade and never left each other unsatisfied. He wondered why Bruck hadn’t wanted to finish it tonight. And why he couldn’t just say so. Obi-Wan sighed quietly in the privacy of his helmet and visor. Bruck had his own reasons, no doubt. They weren’t the same people they’d been ten years ago, certainly. Here, on the back of this bike, Obi-Wan’s arms around Bruck’s waist, might be as close as they’d ever be again. He tightened his grip as they leaned into a curve together.

By the time he and Bruck returned, the party was breaking up and even Obi-Wan was ready to quit for the day and park his new toy.

“I believe this is my best nameday yet,” he announced as he stepped off the back of the bike. “Thanks to all of you,” he finished, feeling himself choke up a little. _I’m so lucky,_ he thought as Qui-Gon’s hand fell on his shoulder and squeezed, then moved up to caress the back of his neck. But even that knowledge and that touch couldn’t quite dispel the remnants of melancholy that clung to him after making love with Bruck.

In a group, they headed back to upper levels. Bruck and Isa were the first to peel off as they reached the floor of their quarters. Bruck gave him a quick kiss and said, “thanks for letting me drive,” with a wink and a smile that was a little brittle.

 

The guests had said their good nights and fallen away and Jicky was yawning by the time Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon reached their quarters again. “I’ll clean up, master,” Jicky mumbled, and picked up a stray plate. Obi-Wan took it from her and turned her toward her room. “We’ll take care of it, Padawan. Go to bed. And thank you for being part of this. I can’t wait to read the _grafika_ you gave me.” He ruffled her hair and was rewarded with a sleepy grin before she stumbled off to the fresher.

There wasn’t much to clean up, in truth, just a few stray plates and glasses to be loaded into the scrubber, and the boxes and paper to be sent down the recycler. Qui-Gon let the guest of honor  clear up the detritus of his presents while he loaded the scrubber. When he’d finished, he found Obi-Wan sitting on the sofa, nursing his previously abandoned glass of stout with a somewhat discontent look on his face. He’d shed his jacket and boots but not the leather pants, which looked odd with his undertunic. Qui-Gon decided to get that bit of clothing off of him as soon as possible.

He sat next to Obi-Wan and slid an arm around his shoulders. Obi-Wan nestled into it, sighing.

“You smell like sex,” Qui-Gon whispered into his hair, and Obi-Wan tensed up in his embrace. Qui-Gon nuzzled him, inhaling. “Why do you think I mind,” he murmured, “after all these years? I suspected you were saving Bruck for last for just that reason.” The smell of ripe Obi-Wan in leather was absolutely intoxicating. Qui-Gon felt his head whirling and his groin filling.

Obi-Wan sighed again and some of the tension drained out of him. “I suppose because I’m still guilty about it. And we . . . It didn’t . . .” He trailed off and leaned forward, out of Qui-Gon’s embrace, and picked up his glass without drinking any of it. Qui-Gon stroked down his back lightly, making him shiver, waiting for Obi-Wan to decide whether to continue or not. After a little while, the younger man took a drink from his glass, returned it to the table, and leaned back beneath Qui-Gon’s arm again.

“I’m being churlish, with no good reason,” Obi-Wan said, purposely changing the subject. Qui-Gon decided to let it go. “I’m sorry, _iji aijinn_. This is just about the best nameday present I’ve ever had.”

“‘Just about’?” Qui-Gon queried with a raised eyebrow.

Obi-Wan grinned. “Well, barring my first rock.” Qui-Gon looked at him with an odd expression, genuinely mystified, and Obi-Wan smiled warmly. “You don’t understand, do you? To me, that rock meant I was truly your padawan. No gift, no matter how extravagant, could possibly top that.”

Had this been a negotiation, Qui-Gon would have taken such words as an amateur attempt at flattery. Coming from Obi-Wan, they melted his heart and made a complete fool-for-love of him.

“Oh, _kosai_ ,” he murmured and pulled Obi-Wan closer.

“That said, the bike is a damned good present,” Obi-Wan acknowledged in a voice tinged with awe. With his usual nimbleness, he turned himself around on the sofa and straddled Qui-Gon’s lap as he had Bruck’s earlier that night. He cupped Qui-Gon’s face in his hands and kissed him tenderly. Qui-Gon’s mouth filled with the taste of stout and Obi-Wan, and sweet tea through the bond. An interesting combination. “And _that_ said, what in the Sith’s name were you thinking, giving me something that extravagant, you old fool?” he demanded when they broke the kiss.

Qui-Gon didn’t actually laugh at the ferocity of Obi-Wan’s question, but he couldn’t help the smile. Obi-Wan shook him a little. “I’m quite serious, Qui! You’ve emptied your savings, haven’t you? Did you think I couldn’t figure that out? Why?”

“Because I can, Obi-Wan,” he said quietly. There was no point in trying to deny where he’d gotten the money. “What do I need it for? I haven’t spent more than a tiny fraction of it in all the years I’ve been putting it away, and most of that on gifts for you and others. It’s never been an emergency fund. I have odd bits of valuables to sell for that, if necessary. What do you think all those books are? And now you have the bike as similar collateral, as well as for pleasure and necessity. And how,” he finished sternly, “is this any more extravagant than that antique tea set you brought back for me from your family after your 21st nameday? It’s worth quite as much as that bike.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, looking more like a disgusted teenager than the lines at their corners would suggest. “Quite different, in that I paid not a credit for it. It was my legacy—”

“—Your entire legacy, I might add,” Qui-Gon interrupted.

“Aside, of course, from the enormous trust I now have full access to, the mere _interest_ on which I could not possibly even begin to deplete in a single lifetime of utter debauchery and profligacy, even with Bruck’s expert help,” Obi-Wan retorted with scathing sarcasm. “Aside from that and an ancient tea set I gave to you, I’m a complete pauper. Unlike you. Don’t be an idiot.”

Qui-Gon laughed. “Now that we’re on so few missions together, I’d nearly forgotten what it is to catch the sharp edge of your tongue, Padawan.”

“Don’t you ‘padawan’ me, Master Jinn. I’ll have your own master on you with his stick,” Obi-Wan said sharply, then kissed him again. His eyes had softened by the time he pulled back. “Seriously, Qui, it was a very foolish and generous thing to do, and I love you for it, but—”

“No. There will be no taking it back. I’ll hear no more about it,” Qui-Gon said in the voice usually reserved for the last warning of miscreants, and crossed his arms in finality.

Obi-Wan leaned back and mirrored him. “Now that we’re on so few missions together, I’d nearly forgotten what it is to run headfirst into your stubborn streak, Master.” His voice and cadences were a near perfect imitation of Qui-Gon.

They stared each other down, and, after a moment, started to laugh, neither of them sure later which one had broken first. It ended with them gasping in each other’s arms, Obi-Wan still snickering on his master’s shoulder, until Qui-Gon turned his head and caught Obi-Wan’s mouth in a kiss that quickly turned to a heated contest for dominance. _Ah, Obstreperous Obi-Wan,_ Qui-Gon thought. _In leather._

 

Qui-Gon’s hands, like Bruck’s had, came to rest on Obi-Wan’s ass, kneading the leather and the flesh beneath it. Half hard already, he felt a rush of blood to his cock and moaned into Qui-Gon’s mouth, going up on his knees and sinking his hands into Qui-Gon’s hair as he returned the kiss. It rapidly turned wet and sloppy, both of them fighting to taste the other. Qui-Gon’s hands scrabbled at his undertunic, pulling it roughly over his head. “Take this off,” he growled and latched on to one of Obi-Wan’s nipples, worrying it with his teeth, then moving up to nip at his collarbone, his shoulder, his neck. He was going to be covered with bite marks. Obi-Wan shivered in anticipation. The codpiece suddenly felt too tight. But before he could reach for the snaps, Qui-Gon was urging him off his lap.

“Stand up. Bring the jacket. And the boots,” he ordered, and headed toward their bedroom. Halfway there he turned around, as Obi-Wan was gathering his new leathers. “And the gloves,” Qui-Gon added.

Obi-Wan flashed him an evil grin. “Yes . . . Master,” he replied suggestively, and watched with satisfaction as Qui-Gon swallowed heavily.

Obi-Wan followed him to the bedroom with his own knees shaking. Qui-Gon was already stripping himself on his way and dropped his belt and sash on the floor as the door shut behind Obi-Wan. Still bare-chested, Obi-Wan shrugged into the jacket, leaving it open, and stepped into the boots. He found the gloves in his pocket and tugged those on as well, just as Qui-Gon turned around, his own tunic in the process of being folded. The sight made Qui-Gon suspended all motion—even breath, it seemed.

Then the big man tossed his tunic aside and went to his knees, pulling Obi-Wan toward him by his jacket. Qui-Gon nuzzled Obi-Wan’s belly, probing into his navel with his tongue, and ran his hands up Obi-Wan’s torso inside the jacket, nails raking over his nipples. Obi-Wan sank his gloved hands into Qui-Gon’s hair, working the tie out of it with a little help from the Force and letting the heavy strands fall across the wide shoulders.

“Little gods, _kosai_ ,” Qui-Gon murmured against his skin, licking and nipping, leaving more bite marks and making Obi-Wan writhe under his hands. There was something almost frantic in his touch.

“Qui,” he gasped. “Get the clamps, the ones Bruck gave me,” he said, as much to slow them down as because he actually wanted them. Even with the codpiece, his own pants were almost unbearably tight. “Put them on me.”

“Give me a moment,” Qui-Gon groaned, rocking to his feet. He stood shuddering for a moment, trying to control himself, without much evident success.

Putting Qui-Gon’s hair tie between his teeth for a moment, Obi-Wan worked his master’s trousers down around his already drizzling erection and then wrapped the tie snugly around the base of Qui-Gon’s cock, securing it with a slipknot. The big man let out a slow breath and opened his eyes again. “Just in time,” he said with a wan smile. “See what you do to me?”

Obi-Wan grinned sardonically. “It’s not me, it’s the leather. I’ll get the clamps.”

He took the opportunity to wash up just enough to be sanitary and brought a wet cloth out to put in the bowl on the bedside table kept there for just that purpose. By the time he reappeared with the clamps, Qui-Gon had removed the rest of his clothes and was leaning against the side of the bed. Obi-Wan stood in front of him, straddling the bigger man’s outstretched legs.

Qui-Gon took the clamps from him and pushed aside one flap of Obi-Wan’s jacket, then leaned forward to lick and nip at the rosy peak before fastening one of the clamps on it. Obi-Wan hissed as it tightened. “Perfect, perfect. Now the other one.”

The big man tightened the second one slowly until Obi-Wan could just stand it, then flicked the pendant weight. Obi-Wan shuddered and closed his eyes, whimpering.

“Back up a bit. I want to see you,” Qui-Gon growled, maneuvering him by his hips.

Obi-Wan pushed one flap of the jacket aside and stood with a gloved hand on his cocked hip, leaving one nipple and clamp bare and the connecting chain running beneath the leather and across his chest to the other. With his free hand, he flicked the pendant weight on his visible nipple. “Well?” he asked in a sultry voice.

After a long look, Qui-Gon went down on his knees again, like a hungry man begging for food. He unsnapped Obi-Wan’s leather codpiece and pushed the small clothes beneath away to free his erection.

“I cleaned u—” Obi-Wan began just as Qui-Gon took him in, all the way down to the root, all at once, burying his nose in Obi-Wan’s ginger curls. The words turned into a gasp then a desperate moan as Qui-Gon swallowed once then moved back again to work him more slowly.

“I know where this has been,” Qui-Gon growled, squeezing Obi-Wan’s cock. “I can still smell him on you. Did you fuck him on the bike?” And Qui-Gon’s tongue was licking his glans and down the big vein. Obi-Wan’s hands clutched the big man’s shoulders as his knees threatened to give out. “Did you?”

“Fu—yes! Yes. Oh gods, Qui, don’t stop.”

But he did.

“Did you bend him over it?” Qui-Gon demanded. Then his  mouth covered the head of Obi-Wan’s cock, tongue swirling against it. Obi-Wan shuddered, brain sizzling in its own juices. “Did you?” Qui-Gon demanded again.

“N-no. He—rode me.” Qui-Gon reached inside and cupped Obi-Wan’s testicles, teasing them apart with his thumb. “A-against the, the handlebars!” The last syllable turned to a hiss as he squirmed in both pleasure and discomfort.

“Where?” Qui-Gon’s mouth was on him again, sucking, moving down and up again, letting him go with a pop. “Where did you do it?” Qui-Gon took him in again, moving slowly downwards until he was nestled firmly in the big man’s throat. Then Qui-Gon started to hum. The vibration seemed to go through all of Obi-Wan’s body from his cock outward until he was trembling from head to foot.

“Park!” Obi-Wan gasped. “In the park. A p-passby.”

Qui-Gon pulled back again, leaving Obi-Wan almost weeping with frustration. He’d been so close—

“Did anyone see you?”

He curled over Qui-Gon’s shoulders as his master took him down his throat again.

“I don’t know! Speeder went by—” and the last syllable this time would have devolved into a loud shriek if Obi-Wan hadn’t stuffed his leather-clad fist into his own mouth to muffle it as Qui-Gon swallowed repeatedly around him, milking his orgasm from him. It lit up the inside of his skull like fireworks.

Dimly, he felt Qui-Gon maneuver him around, push him down on their bed, and wipe him down. Equally dimly, he wondered if his partner had had the presence of mind to slip the thong off his own cock and come. Then the bed dipped and Qui-Gon was beside him, pulling him close, nuzzling his ear. One big hand stroked up and down his skin, soothing him, lulling him to sleep.

 

Qui-Gon dozed too, but opened his eyes as Obi-Wan shifted and blinked himself awake a short while later. He’d removed the clamps and his own thong, leaving his cock at half mast. Without it, watching Obi-Wan come would have ended their evening. And that was the last thing he wanted.

“Very effective method of interrogation,” Obi-Wan said approvingly, and yawned. “Have you mentioned that one to your classes?”

Qui-Gon propped himself up on an elbow and slithered a hand inside Obi-Wan’s jacket, pulling him closer, the better to inhale the intoxicating scent of sweat and leather on Obi-Wan’s skin. “It’s only useful with guilty exhibitionists,” he replied with a smirk. “Why against the handlebars? There’s no back support.”

“So I discovered.” Obi-Wan was visibly struck by a sudden thought. “Wait a bit: you’ve done it too, haven’t you? Dirty old man!” He laughed.

“Oh, no. I was much younger than you. Barely knighted, the first time,” Qui-Gon countered with a smile.

“With Mace?” Obi-Wan was incredulous. “He’d never—”

Qui-Gon laughed. “Not likely! No, it was no one you know. On my last trip to Dannora. An eager and lovely young woman. We’d had a very pleasant picnic together.”

“While you were at your family’s estate? Signing away your birthright?” Obi-Wan seemed surprised.

“That was one of the few pleasurable afternoons I had there,” Qui-Gon confirmed in a wistful voice. “The rest was largely unbearable. The only people who would speak to me were the servants and family retainers, my teachers, and my next younger sister, who never obeyed anyone but herself.”

“I sense a story there,” Obi-Wan said quietly.

“Not tonight.” Qui-Gon shook his head, not wanting to spoil the moment. He leaned forward and caught Obi-Wan’s mouth, pushing into it. Obi-Wan opened to him more than willingly, melting in his arms. Then, when Qui-Gon had thoroughly lost himself in the taste and texture of Obi-Wan’s mouth, the younger man flipped them over, pinning Qui-Gon to the bed with surprising rapidity and un-Jedi-like smugness.

“No,” Obi-Wan agreed. “Not tonight. Tonight,” he purred, running gloved hands from Qui-Gon’s wrists to his shoulders and down his chest, “tonight I plan on fucking you into the mattress. Does that please you?”

“Oh yes,” Qui-Gon murmured, watching Obi-Wan’s eyes dilate, certain they matched his own. “Very much.”

Obi-Wan leaned over him again and brought this mouth down on his captive’s—that was very much what Qui-Gon felt like, still pinned between Obi-Wan’s legs and held down by his arms. Not that he had any intention of escaping. On the other hand, it might be amusing to try.

He bucked up against Obi-Wan in a nearly successful attempt to reverse their positions, but Obi-Wan locked his legs firmly around Qui-Gon’s, limiting his leverage and pinning him to the bed by his shoulders.

“I can see I’m going to have to restrain you, master mine,” Obi-Wan growled. He must have made some small noise because Obi-Wan’s grin became positively malevolent. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Shall I tie you up and use you?” Obi-Wan gestured behind him and Qui-Gon’s abandoned sash flew to his hand.

Qui-Gon’s struggle was more appearance than reality; they both knew from experience that Obi-Wan would have had to use the Force or a painful armlock to truly pin Qui-Gon. But even the appearance was arousing and by the time Obi-Wan had bound his wrists to the headboard’s spindles with his own sash, they were both hard again and panting. Obi-Wan kissed him viciously, nipping and marking him to mirror the ones Qui-Gon had left on that pale flesh earlier.

Then those agile, gloved hands started to touch him, stroking down his long torso, pinching his nipples, tracing the join of hip to waist. They slithered over his thighs, then between them, down the inside as Obi-Wan moved back, and spread them so he could kneel between them. Where Obi-Wan’s palms and fingers were calloused, the gloves hid that and the touch was almost unbearably soft, nearly ticklish. Qui-Gon squirmed under it as Obi-Wan painted his body with long strokes of his palms and contrasting nips and pinches. In short order, Qui-Gon was tingling everywhere, giving quiet little grunts with each nip.

But he wasn’t at all prepared for the sensation of Obi-Wan’s gloved hand hefting and rolling his scrotum. That nearly pushed him over the edge and would have, if Obi-Wan hadn’t stopped immediately and searched for the thong Qui-Gon had taken from his hair.

“You’re very touchy tonight, Master Jinn,” Obi-Wan observed, tying him off again.

Qui-Gon sighed in relief. “I can’t explain to you how delicious you look in that.”

“I had no idea you were so fond of leather. You never reacted this way with my leather pants.”

“It’s the gloves, and your bare chest under that jacket,” Qui-Gon groaned, tugging at his bonds. “I want to touch you—”

Obi-Wan’s eyes gleamed suddenly and his face took on one of his wicked smiles. “Would you like me to fuck you with these?” he said wiggling the fingers in Qui-Gon face. “I’m sure Suri would feel they’d been put to good use, even if I couldn’t wear them for riding again.”

“I’ll buy you another pair,” Qui-Gon said breathlessly.

“I take it that’s a yes,” Obi-Wan smirked.

“Yes! Just let me—”

“No, you’re to be done to, not doing, Master Jinn. And you’ll like it.”

_I’m sure I will,_ Qui-Gon agreed silently, while scowling outwardly for show.

Maddeningly, Obi-Wan left the bed to hunt for something or other, and stranded him there in anticipation far longer than he wanted. But he came back with the leather collar, which he slipped around Qui-Gon’s neck, then threaded the chain of the nipple clamps through its D-ring.

Qui-Gon whimpered as they were tightened in turn, the sensation going straight to his already throbbing and bound cock. Every toss of his head pulled on the clamps, but it was impossible to stay still.

“Beautiful,” Obi-Wan whispered as he stroked a leather-clad palm down Qui-Gon’s belly, then down to and up and around his cock. Qui-Gon gasped and nearly stopped breathing, it was so wonderful. Again, he was grateful for the binding. All of it.

Obi-Wan slid a bolster beneath his hips and a pillow beneath his back, then knelt between Qui-Gon’s legs and lifted them onto his shoulders. Still securely tied, he felt exposed and vulnerable and painfully aroused. “Watch me,” Obi-Wan demanded, and Qui-Gon complied. It was quite a sight: Obi-Wan kneeling between his legs in black and blue leather from toes to waist, with only his cock exposed. He’d fastened the bottom third of the jacket so his bare chest showed with the surprising scruff of red-gold hair and an occasional flash of nipple. Lithe hands in black gloves stroked up and down Qui-Gon’s thighs in vivid contrast to his own pale flesh.

Obi-Wan frowned in concentration, nearly bringing his eyebrows together, giving every bit of his attention to the task, so to speak, at hand. First, Qui-Gon’s ball sac was hefted again, then rolled and squeezed in Obi-Wan’s gloved hand, drawing a long, slow hiss out of Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan’s other gloved hand, meanwhile, stroked him lazily, swirling up around the head and twisting around on the downstroke then just teasing the beneath crown or into the slit. It was almost unbearable and Qui-Gon heard himself growling in frustration.

When he was wound up and panting, Obi-Wan took one glove off, reached for the lube and poured a generous amount into his bare palm, then curled it around the index finger of his gloved hand. Then that finger slid over Qui-Gon’s buttocks and dipped between them, slick and cool and strangely impersonal without the touch of skin on skin. The slick finger teased his anus then pushed slowly inside. “I wish you could see this going into you,” Obi-Wan hissed, “the black against your pale skin and your hot, red cock. Is it good?” He curled his finger just so and Qui-Gon let out a guttural moan, throwing his head back as a bolt of electricity shot up his spine, joined by the tug on his nipples.

The leather rasped in his channel as Obi-Wan moved his finger back and forth to loosen him, and his muscles contracted in protest. Obi-Wan removed his finger and instead pressed the neck of the tube a little inside him, then reinserted his finger to spread what he’d squeezed inside. Qui-Gon pressed back into him with each probe, until more bulk pressed against him, then gasped as Obi-Wan pushed two fingers into him.

The leather was not only bulkier, but the tops of the fingers were seamed and articulated, the texture like nothing he’d felt before. He was shaking by the time Obi-Wan worked three fingers into him. Three was almost too much, but he couldn’t stand how much he wanted this, wanted Obi-Wan finger-fucking him, wanted the harsh rasp and the foreign texture with the aliveness and knowing touch of Obi-Wan’s hands. He heard himself make helpless, desperate noises, tugging on his bonds.

He watched Obi-Wan pull on the other glove again with his teeth and bucked frantically as Obi-Wan wrapped that hand around Qui-Gon’s cock and began to work him, three fingers still thrusting inside. That would have been the end of him had the thong not still bound him, but Obi-Wan left it on and worked him until he was thrashing, inarticulate with need.

“What is it you want, _torikyu_?” The Dannoran word meant “slave to one’s own desires,” and they had only used it when Obi-Wan dominated. In these circumstances, it was almost a trigger word for Qui-Gon, or had become one, and he felt himself falling gladly into his submissive role, where he was Obi-Wan’s responsibility.

“Fucking, Master, fucking, please,” Qui-Gon panted.

“But I am fucking you, _torikyu_. Is this what you want?” Obi-Wan left off stroking him and began to stroke his own cock, thumb gathering the moisture from the slit and pressing into Qui-Gon’s mouth. He sucked at it greedily. It was ambrosial: leather, musk, salt, and highly spiced tea through the bond.

The three fingers left him and his master leaned over him, spreading him wide, pinning him helplessly, hands over his head, thighs pressed to his chest, bent double, and pushed inside him until he was full, until the edges of the codpiece’s snaps pressed into him and the leather chafed him. He couldn’t move, not even to squirm, couldn’t thrust up, couldn’t rock. He could only lie there and be done to, lie there and be fucked.

By Obi-Wan, his master. He was so grateful.

There was a sharp tug on the thong and pressure against his cock. His master had somehow managed to slip a finger under it. “If I take this off, will you come? Right now?”

“Yes, master, yes. Please—” he babbled.

His master gave him a maleficent smile. “Then we’ll leave it on for a bit, shall we?” And began to move. Each thrust raked his prostate and made him cry out. Each thrust drew his testicles up tighter and tighter against the thong. Each thrust should have been the last, but there was another, another, another, until suddenly the pressure around his cock was gone and the one in his balls was erupting out of him and there was a roaring sound in his head that might have been his own voice or his master’s or both together.

 

Obi-Wan, gasping, emptied himself in a long, ecstatic shudder, and still had enough presence of mind to wipe the small flood of jizz from Qui-Gon’s chest and rub it into his gloves before disentangling them and loosening Qui-Gon’s clamps and bonds. Then he fell heavily on his side next to his semi-conscious lover, who had come with a noise Obi-Wan seldom heard. If he hadn’t woken Jicky it wasn’t for lack of decibels. He smiled, pleased with himself. It wasn’t often he could find something to completely undo Qui-Gon the way he was so often undone himself.  That, he reflected, was certainly worth a new set of gloves, and might actually be as good a present as the bike itself.

After he’d caught his breath, he began to peel out of his leathers, which he knew he would have to clean a bit in the morning. The gloves came off stiffly and smelled . . . interesting. No chance they’d ever be used for riding his speederbike. Riding his lover, however . . . He left them on the bed beside him. He toed the boots off to thud to the floor and sat up to open the jacket and drop it there as well. The pants proved most challenging and after a while he gave up and just left them open, flopping back down beside Qui-Gon.

Beside him, his master groaned softly and cracked an eye open. “I’m too old for that,” he muttered and closed it again.

Obi-Wan flapped the semen-scented gloves in the air above Qui-Gon’s nose. “Really?” he said. “Because it would be a shame to just throw these out now.”

With Jedi speed, Qui-Gon snatched them from his hand and clutched them tightly. “You’ll do no such thing.” He looked comically like an overgrown child clutching a threatened treasured doll.

Obi-Wan laughed. “Well, as Bruck would say, ‘Gotcha.’”

“Without a doubt. You’ve certainly given me a new toy to obsess on,” Qui-Gon sighed, and dropped the gloves on the table beside him. “Please tell Suri they went to very good use. We’ll find you another pair tomorrow.”

“I have a feeling we’d better buy several,” Obi-Wan observed archly. “Help me out of these, would you? If you’re not completely enfeebled, that is. I’d like to curl up next to you.”

The trousers seemed to have become one with his outer epidermal layer, but they finally came off. Obi-Wan half expected to hear a loud sucking sound when they did. When at last they were both naked, they staggered to the fresher together for a quick rinse, toweled off, and fell into bed.

“Best nameday ever,” Obi-Wan mumbled into Qui-Gon’s neck.

“Mmm-hmm,” Qui-Gon agreed, fumbling for his hand.

And they fell asleep.

* * *

In the morning, Jicky gave them both an accusing hairy eyeball over breakfast, but said nothing. Qui-Gon, who had uncharacteristically been the principal noisemaker, merely ate his breakfast with slightly more than the usual dignity.

Obi-Wan tidied up their disaster area of a bedroom while Qui-Gon showered and Jicky took care of the breakfast dishes, then hopped into the shower himself. Qui-Gon was dressed and had cleaned Obi-Wan’s new leathers for him by the time he came out. They looked, except for the gloves, entirely innocent now. Obi-Wan found himself observed with great interest as he put them on again, this time with a high-necked black undertunic.

“Am I going to have to fight you off every time I wear these?” he asked in a not completely facetious tone.

“Possibly,” Qui-Gon confirmed. “You’ll never know for certain, will you?”

“Oh, good,” Obi-Wan responded, and grinned.

They shuttled over to the Jedi training grounds with Obi-Wan’s new bike, a military grade bike from the Jedi depot for Qui-Gon, and a passel of young padawans heading the same way for their own training.  Jicky, riding pillion with her master in the hold, looked a little apprehensive but pleased with the looks of awe her master and his new bike drew. Qui-Gon was equally pleased, for a different reason. Since acquiring a padawan, Obi-Wan’s reputation among the younger padawans and knights had grown exponentially until he was seldom referred to as “Master Jinn’s padawan” anymore, even by Qui-Gon’s contemporaries. Now, “Padawan Salis’s master” was the more common epithet. Whether he realized it or not, Obi-Wan was well out from under his old master’s shadow, and Qui-Gon was as proud of him for that as for anything else in his already remarkable career.

They eschewed the track, crowded with padawans, for the open test course, which covered a number of different types of terrain, most of it rough. Though it was a racing bike, Qui-Gon had ordered Obi-Wan’s present adjusted for cross-country, not flat-track racing, which was how it was far more likely to be used.. They rode the course at a leisurely pace to get a feel for it, then ran it again at successively higher speeds. On the fourth run, Obi-Wan’s bike began to outstrip Qui-Gon’s and finally finished the course several lengths ahead, though Qui-Gon was running at full throttle. When his bike stopped, Obi-Wan lifted off his helmet and gave a loud whoop. “Little gods, this thing is fast, Qui!” he exclaimed, eyes shining with excitement as Qui-Gon drew up to him and stopped. Without the beard, he would have looked about 14 in his enthusiasm. “I still wasn’t running full-out back there. Were you?”

“Yes, I was. How does it handle?”

“It needs a little adjustment for the terrain, I think. The field is still a bit sensitive. But the controls are very responsive and it’s nimble. Almost like a fighter in the response time.”

“Good. Good. And do you approve, Jicky?”

Obi-Wan’s padawan took off her own helmet, revealing an expression almost as exhilarated as her master’s. “Wow,” she breathed. “Wow! Will you teach me to drive it?”

Both masters laughed. “We’ve made a convert,” Qui-Gon observed.

“Put your helmet back on and come up in front of me,” Obi-Wan told her, pleased at her excitement.

Jicky scrambled up in front of her master and he spent a few minutes showing her the controls and gauges and talking her through the start-up procedure. “When you’re ready, I’ll program it to start for you, too,” he promised. “But that won’t be for a while yet. You don’t have the body mass to handle something this size alone, yet.” Qui-Gon listened patiently to the same lecture he’d given Obi-Wan on the dangers and temperaments of speeder bikes, adding only a random tidbit—more wisecrack than true information—now and then. Obi-Wan was a good and thorough teacher, and had only grown more so with Jicky.

“Good. Now put your hands here, beside mine, and your feet here. Throttle up, and—go!”

Qui-Gon watched them recede from him, thinking how quickly Obi-Wan was leaving him behind.

“And that’s as it should be,” he murmured to himself, though the pleasure of having brought Obi-Wan to this point and its rightness made it no less painful.


End file.
